Yesterday, I got a calendar reminder on my iPhone: ‘The first time I met Walter.’

He was tall, with a warm smile, and a touch of shyness. I noticed the glisten of stainless steel—his braces—making him self-conscious. But he was honest about it, saying, “Yeah, I have braces.” I smiled back, “Nice,” seeing the vulnerability behind his words.

Walter had a way about him that felt like he came from another time — pressed Dickies, Converse shoes, and a quiet pride in his East Los Angeles roots.

There was no need for pretense. He was comfortable in his own skin.

I showed him around our production studio, a space I saw as a playground — a place for creativity and expansion. I hoped he would see it that way too, as a new lens through which to explore his own vision.

As we walked to his car, a black BMW SUV, he smirked and said, “I preferred my old beat-up car, but I’m grateful.” Walter wanted to make it known that we didn’t need external luxury to feel fulfilled.

His ideas weren’t about things or status but about something deeper — about who we are and how we see the world.

We continued our walk along the beach in Marina Del Rey, where I found myself engaged in conversation with someone who asked some of the most thoughtful questions.

People who think deeply about life — storytellers, creators, dreamers — don’t just ask questions about what you do, but about why you do it, how you experience it, and what you want to create in the world. He made me reflect on my own work and dreams.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Would you ever go to the moon?”

I paused, considering. “I’m not sure. There’s still so much on Earth I’d like to explore.

Walter didn’t accept that. “WHY WOULDN’T YOU?!” he exclaimed.

His question wasn’t just about space travel — it was about perspective. It was about seeing the world not just as it is, but as it could be. 

Walter was reaching for something bigger, something beyond the conventional. I admired that.

“What if I wanted to go to the moon?” he asked, and I realized at that moment that our visions were different, but they didn’t need to be the same.

We could both aim for growth, in different ways.

“I’d help you go to the moon,” I said with a grin.

He was surprised. “Really? What about YOU?”... He wanted to make sure I didn’t feel left behind.

I smiled and held my hands up in a heart shape toward the sky as if looking at Walter in his spaceship. “Someone has to stay to give you something to look back at!”

Walter looked at me, in awe. “No one’s ever answered that way.”

And that’s the thing. Walter and I had different ideas of what expansion looked like. For him, it was about going beyond, pushing boundaries, and seeing what’s out there. For me, it was about exploring what’s here — deepening the roots I’ve already planted.

But in that difference, we both found expansion. By holding space for each other’s vision — by respecting and challenging one another — we were able to grow in ways we hadn’t imagined before.

It’s been over a year since I last spoke to Walter, but I think about him often. Different visions don’t have to compete.

Some of us want to reach for the stars, while others want to deepen our roots. But in allowing each other to exist as we are — without judgment — we open up space for complementary growth.

All Things,

MG